


Milt and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

by Corvidology



Category: Battle Creek (TV)
Genre: Awkward First Times, Bad Luck, First Time, M/M, Post-Canon, Snark, Yuletide 2017, Yuletide Treat, best laid plans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 12:15:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13123524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corvidology/pseuds/Corvidology
Summary: For once, Milt's plans go awry.





	Milt and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HalfshellVenus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HalfshellVenus/gifts).



He woke to the promise of yet another glorious day in Battle Creek, sunlight streaming through the blinds. Today was _the_ day, the day he'd carefully calculated—

Sunlight streaming through the blinds? Something was wrong. He glanced at his phone on the bedside table. 7:08 am. His pre-programmed alarm hadn't gone off at 4:30am as it usually did and neither for that matter, had either of his back-up alarm clocks. He jumped out of bed, stretching his arms over his head, deciding which parts of his normal morning routine he'd have to eliminate so he could still make it to work before Russ. Yoga, Pilates and meditation were out. A curtailed run would have to do. It took him ten minutes he couldn't spare to find his left running shoe under the bed instead of where he usually left it, stashed tidily next to its mate in the bedroom closet. His jogging pants ripped while he was pulling them on, meaning he had to wear the sweat-stained pair he'd worn the day before. Then he had to search for his keys and phone which were hidden under yesterday's copy of the Battle Creek Enquirer on the kitchen counter. 

He struck out into new territory, on side streets cutting through the middle of his usual running route. The trees were turning color, he felt a nip in the air reddening his cheeks and he quickly settled into his normal stride, concentrating on his breathing, in, out, in, out, in, out, in, _Fuck!_

A Dachshund in a knitted pink coat had sunk its needle sharp teeth into his right ankle. He tried to talk it down, using the same calming tones that drove Russ straight up the wall whenever he used them on perps, but no joy. He didn't have it in him to ever harm a dog and certainly not while its aged owner was making her way unsteadily down the path from her house trilling "Butch, let loose of the nice young man right now, you hear me?"

Thankfully, Butch did hear her, backing off but still growling and baring his teeth at him. Now he knew what Russ would look like in a knitted pink coat. 

It took him twenty minutes to convince Miss Dorothy that he didn't need a comforting cup of chamomile tea, a piece of cake or iodine and bandages, before conceding his run was over and limping back to his apartment, a foil wrapped piece of Lemon Supreme cake in hand. 

He stepped into the shower with a sigh of relief. A hot shower and an orgasm always set him up right for the day. He conjured up a favorite fantasy of Russ gagged and spread out naked across Agent Bromberg's desk and started to stroke his cock, hot water streaming down his back. There was a knocking sound in the pipes and suddenly he was standing under freezing cold water he grit his teeth against, washing himself quickly, his fantasy dwindling along with his cock. Then the shower cut out completely while he was still rinsing conditioner out of his hair. 

He cleaned Butch's bite marks and covered them with a large Band Aid before trying to comb his hair into its usual helmet-like perfection. No such luck. Not that he believed in luck. The lingering conditioner stirred up the cowlick he paid his hairstylist a fortune to conceal and left his bangs falling into his face like he was auditioning for the role of Danny in Grease. Russ was going to have a field day but at least Milt still had his bespoke suits to shield him from everyone. Everyone but Russ, who already knew the worst and miraculously still called him his partner.

He had someone's suits but they weren't his. The drycleaners must have delivered the wrong ones to his office the night before and he hadn't noticed, too lost in plans for this day, this precisely chosen day. Even if he'd been shorter and wider, suits that belonged in a Guys and Dolls performance didn't make the grade. He really had to stop with the musicals. Russ could find that out about him later. 

A quick reconnoiter of his remaining clean clothes yielded only faded jeans, a band t-shirt long past its prime and a dark blue sweatshirt thankfully loose enough to conceal his gun. "Freshman Milt" stared back at him from the mirror. Feeling uncomfortably exposed, he grabbed his keys, wallet and phone and left for work. In his head, he could already hear Russ – "trying to pass for human now, Chamberlain?" – but this was the day and nothing was going to stop him now. 

His SUV wouldn't start. He called an Uber and rode to work in a Hyundai Accent that reeked of wet dog. Russ might go with his instincts but he prided himself on his logic and refused, completely refused, to see recent events as a bad omen. He tried to meditate, concentrating on his breathing but his concentration couldn't hold through his driver hitting every pothole in town. None of it mattered. Once he saw Russ, everything would be all right. 

He didn't see Russ. He did see the shocked faces of the rest of Battle Creek's finest when they first saw him. Jacocks even ruffled his hair in passing as he sat in their bullpen waiting for Russ to arrive.

Commander Guziewicz was much better at keeping a straight face as she emerged from her office and spotted him. 

"We're having a slow day, Milt, so Russ is out apartment hunting with Holly but if you need someone else to help—"

He shot to his feet. "No, everything's fine, ma'am. I was just checking in." 

Everything was far from fine. He shut himself away in his office, intent on distracting himself with completing some of the FBI's endless paperwork. After an hour of staring blankly at his screen he admitted defeat and told his assistant he was heading out and to call him if he was needed. 

He got home, ripped off his sweatshirt, pulled off his shoes and socks, grabbed a beer and slumped on his couch. He shouldn't drink it, technically he was still on duty, but he wanted it bad. 

Hours later when he was woken up by the incessant ringing of his doorbell he had the now warm but still unopened beer bottle clasped in his hand. He put it down and grabbed his phone – no messages – and went to get the door. 

Russ Agnew or at least a GQ rendition of Russ Agnew, was standing outside in a pressed blue shirt and a sharply tailored dark grey suit he hadn't seen on Russ before. Russ's hair was freshly buzzed, he was clean shaven and for once he had no visible injuries. Most startlingly, Russ had the biggest smile he'd ever seen on his face. Getting Holly back looked real good on Russ. Goody for them. 

Or maybe not. Russ looked him quickly up and down – "The Ramones, Chamberlain?" – before pushing him backwards into his apartment, his hand squarely in Joey Ramone's face, slamming the door behind them with his foot. He should have objected as Russ continued to push him backwards towards his bedroom. Should have, but with Russ kissing him thoroughly as he shoved, Russ's hands working up under his t-shirt, he just didn't have it in him... at least not yet though if his luck had changed...

 

It hadn't. He woke up alone, bad luck evidently intact, if he believed in luck which of course he didn't. He was the master of his own fate... Russ was right, he was a pretentious asshole. Not that Russ had used the word 'pretentious.'

Sex with Russ hadn't been everything he'd imagined it would be. In fact it hadn't been anything like he'd imagined it would be. He'd always considered himself an accomplished lover – anything worth doing was worth doing right – but recalling the string of disasters from the night before, Russ would definitely disagree. He'd accidentally bitten Russ's lip, grabbed hold of his balls far too hard leaving Russ in the fetal position for a while and then, when Russ was finally feeling up to continuing, Milt's hands had slipped out from under him and he'd almost maimed both of them. 

He threw an arm across his eyes. And then there was the matter of Russ and Holly. _Fuck_. He hadn't planned on being Russ's last hurrah, far from it, but he was going to be a memorable one if only for all the wrong reasons. 

 

"Superman's still in bed? I thought you'd be out leaping tall buildings with a single bound by now." 

Russ, now dressed in his wrinkled shirt and pants, perched on the edge of the bed, coffee and doughnuts in a takeout tray. 

"I thought you'd left."

"I did. All you had in the fridge was juice that'd turned—"

"Wheatgrass."

Russ grimaced. "Like I said, turned, so I went out to get us some breakfast."

He wasn't going to say anything about Holly. "I thought you'd gone back to Holly."

"What?" Russ looked confused.

"Guz said you were apartment hunting yesterday. With Holly." Smooth, Milt, real smooth. 

"And you thought— so when I came here last night—" Russ slammed the coffee tray down on the bedside table. "I don't cheat, Milt. Not on anyone. Not ever. You should know that." Russ started to stand but Milt sat up, pulling Russ back down to the bed. 

"I do know that. I'm sorry, Russ." Scenes from the previous night's debacle played over and over again in his head. "You don't know just how sorry I am."

"Holly's a good friend and always will be but you know we broke up months ago." Russ ran his hand lightly over Milt's now exposed scar, the permanent reminder of Brock's attempt to kill him. "Everything changed after this. Finding out the truth about you, finding out I could trust you was the game changer. Forced me to admit some things to myself."

"But you never said anything."

"You're still out of my class, Milt."

He placed his hand over Russ's. "Did you listen to anything Brock said? You're out of mine."

"Is that why you didn't make a move?"

"First, you were still with Holly. Then when you split up I was waiting for the right time which coincidentally was yesterday. Exactly six months and five days after your break up with Holly." He looked down at their hands. "I read a lot of books on how long it takes someone to get over a serious relationship—"

"... _And five days?_ "

"It was an average based on all the possible variables," he said, defensively. 

Russ grinned at him. 

"So what changed for you?"

"Holly. She told me to man-up, clean-up and give it my best. I was terr— unsure but then you opened the door looking damn approachable for once, so I approached."

He removed his hand. "But now you regret it."

"Why?" 

He ran a finger over a particularly ugly love bite marring Russ's neck. Butch would've made a neater job of it. 

"You mean because of last night? I know in Milt World unicorns fart rainbows, there's no refractory period and orgasms always come in multiples but here, in the real world, that's what sex with someone new is mostly like, messy and awkward. You don't even know what turns them on yet but, if they're worth it, you learn and it gets better, a whole lot better." 

Russ was right. It would. 

"Now, it's not usually so spectacularly bad—" 

"Hey!" 

Russ started to shift closer but stopped abruptly, wincing. "Or this painful— my balls aren't quite ready to forgive you yet— but when you feel as much for someone as I— hell, I'm all in and practice makes perfect." Russ started to undress.

"I was off my game." He didn't think he'd ever stop grinning. "I'm usually an incredible lover."

"Yeah, yeah, you're Milt _Casanova cribbed from me_ Chamberlain, so of course you are." Russ rolled his eyes. "You've read the Kama Sutra in the original Sanskrit and the world's top-rated sex toy is named in your honor— 'The Miltonator has five speeds, folds up for easy storage, is aerodynamic, solar powered and guaranteed to bring you hours of pleasure'—"

"I don't need toys, Russ." He started slowly stroking his cock. 

Russ's pants hit the floor. "Prove it."

So he did.


End file.
